“You should lock the front door,” Connor says.
“There are ten people on the island, and I’m the scariest,” I say as I prop my hip on the living room doorframe.
“Until now,” he says.
“Please,” I scoff, “I could lay you out in seconds.” I can’t, at least not in seconds. It’s irritating how good he looks. Leaning back in the leather chair, his long legs clad in jeans and spread wide. He’s wearing a henley pushed up to his elbows. It looks like he’s bulked up a bit, and he’s grown a beard.
“You could lay me out, but it’d take at least a minute,” he says with a boyish grin. “I see you stole my hoodie.” He stands up and stalks toward me. “My watch,” he lifts my wrist and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “My heart.” He cups my cheek and runs his thumb over my face tenderly.
The sincerity in his eyes has me melting. I knew when I walked out that door it wasn’t going to be for forever, and I’m actually a little surprised our separation lasted this long. There is no denying our love and the connection that exists between us. I could feel him before I even walked into the house.
I can’t live another day without him beside me. The past six weeks have killed me. I’m so thankful for Claire staying with me the first week and Ivy coming up every weekend, but nothing can fill the void he left in my soul. A Connor-size chasm that only he fits inside.
That doesn’t change the fact that he was stupid as fuck and made a reckless decision after keeping me in the dark for months. I still don’t have answers because there was no way in hell I was going to reach out to him. If he wanted us back together, he could come to me. I knew we’d be here, face to face, eventually.
“Are you ready to explain yourself?” It takes a great deal of effort on my part, but I pull out of his embrace.
“Yes,” he says softly. He looks around the living room. “Does Parker have any alcohol in this place?”
“In the study,” I point at the French doors that lead to the room where all his law books and a desk are. I lead him across the room and into the office. I grab a bottle of vodka and reach into the ice box in the mini fridge for a couple cubes. I fill half a high ball glass with the Grey Goose and hand it to him.
I don’t make anything for myself for reasons I’ll have to share once we’ve worked through this. I just sit down on the couch and fold my legs under me. I need him to tell me everything on his own, no prompting. Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the couch, he sits down right next to me. One hand grips my thigh while the other holds tight to the glass.
“What I’m going to tell you is dark,” he downs his vodka and sets the glass on the coffee table. “I’m not sure if you’ll even want me back when you know what I’ve done.”
There is literally nothing he could tell me short of saying he pulled the trigger on the bullet that killed my dad that would make me not want him or need him. I don’t say anything though, just focus on keeping my face expressionless. I don’t want my emotions to make him stop or question being completely honest with me.
Over the next hour and a half, he tells me every single heartbreaking detail about the abuse he endured. The horrible things he was made to do. The beatings. The psychological torture. I always knew there was something that he had bottled up inside, but I thought maybe it was the trauma of watching my dad be shot. Then he details the events that took place while the guys were in Russia.
I can’t stop the tears from rolling down my face. He reaches up and wipes them away with his thumb. I turn my face into his hand and kiss his palm. “I missed you. I hate that you went through all this. I hate that I couldn’t be there for you.”
“I missed you, too.” He leans in to kiss me. It starts soft and hesitant but quickly devolves into a hungry and rough kiss that has my nipples hardening. His hand moves under my hoodie, searching for skin-to-skin contact. He pulls me into his lap, but I resist. There’s something I have to tell him now.
“Wait,” I scoot back putting some distance between us, “I have to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“I’m late.”
“Late?” His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?” I’m about to answer him when I see it click with him. “You’re pregnant?” Every emotion crosses his face; joy then fear, then hope.
“Maybe,” I hold my hand up. “I’ve been stressed, so it could be that, but I’m two weeks late. I was going to make Griff go with me to get a test this weekend. Where is he, by the way?”
“Hiding out in town until we call to tell him that it’s safe. I couldn’t convince him to not come this weekend. But more importantly, you weren’t going to tell me?” he asks with the audacity to look upset.
I give him a slow blink for the obvious hypocrisy. “Are you really going to be mad about this? I would have told you if I took it and it was positive.”
“Right,” he stands and holds his hand out for mine, “let’s go get a test.”
When Connor said let’s go get a test, what he meant was let’s go get
